Friday, May 17, 2013

I'm freedom's happy bond-slave

Wild heart, child heart, all of the world your home. 
Glad heart, mad heart, what can you do but roam?
--Robert W. Service

I think cats can serve as role models for us all.
Cats are the most curious animals, while the same time, they are cool as cucumbers.
They are at home and at peace in their curiosity.
Cats seem to be always on the move, and yet always at rest.

I walked out of the house full of hospitable Mormons into complete darkness.
In the country, there are no road lights.
I looked up into the heavens and my sense of awe lept out of my chest and into the sky.
Have you ever hungered for something so desperately, the desire pulls you out of your seat and into the clouds?
Sometimes, you can feel the dryness of your soul, as it waits to be watered by a sign that's gonna come to you.
And then you look up.
And you find that there's an entire world above you.
The sky is a gift to those who look up.
Rays of light cut through multi-colored, dazzling clouds, painting an outline of angel's wings; or you hear words you know were meant for you; or you look up at an eternity of stars.
Bright, limpid stars, fresh and new, dewey with the tears of angels.
Old stars, tough as diamonds, that shine with the wisdom of thousands of billions of ages.

Have you ever made eye contact with someone on the street, and their eyes have shifted from your face up to a little bit left of head?
That's the moment they discover your invisible traveling companion.

There are two ways to deal with roadblocks.
One is to make a u-turn and find another way.
Or you can leap over whatever it is that blocks your way.
My mother once made me a long pink skirt, swirled like strawberry ice cream, with crisp eyelet trim on the bottom.
I loved that skirt and wore it faithfully.
I remember I was climbing a picket fence, as a part of the shortcut to reach the creek, and that poor skirt became a casualty of Operation Picket Fence.
I arrived back home victoriously, but instead of laurels on my head, my only trophy was a giant slash through the middle of the strawberry-ice-cream skirt.
I received a reprimand, accompanied by a sigh.
But I had reached the creek, and that was the main point of the excursion.
No adventure can be accomplished without some sacrifices along the way.
If all we were interested in was preserving our favorite pink skirts, we would stay at home.

"We shed as we pick up, like travellers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind."
--Septimus Hodge, Tom Stoppard's Arcadia

Incidentally, my mother modified the strawberry-ice-cream skirt; amputated the shredded section; and reworked the design to make the old skirt new.
I wore the skirt just as faithfully.
And, together, we climbed a few more picket fences.

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